


Tortures Unrelenting

by Mercurie



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Fashion & Couture, Fluff, Gen, Harems, Humor, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurie/pseuds/Mercurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a harem girl is no easy life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tortures Unrelenting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [via_ostiense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/gifts).



> Title from the English translation of ["Martern Aller Arten"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ek1w7ZIc_I0) from _Die Entführung aus dem Serail_.

"The vizier is evil," Lalehan observed. "That much is obvious."

"The color doesn't look bad on you." In truth, it wasn't bad - it was execrable. Lalehan's name might mean pink, but _nomen est omen_ didn't apply in this case. The girl looked like a small, unevenly cooked tart: limp, sugary, and accusing. Philippa felt slightly hungry at the thought.

Not that the pink suited her any better, but in the past couple of days, she'd become resigned to this latest hardship: the Sultan's vizier, apparently bored and fancying himself an authority on feminine beauty, had decided to coordinate the Harem's toilette. The theme of the day was bright pink. Of the five other girls lounging around the courtyard, all but one appeared openly irritated. That was still better than yesterday, whose dull gray color scheme had elicited universal contempt.

"Durr-i Bakht," Lalehan said, her critical gaze sweeping over Philippa's carelessly combed hair and no doubt improperly fastened garments, "The vizier must have a personal grudge against you."

Lalehan was probably right, Philippa reflected sourly. And the pink and about the vizier.

***

The Harem was redolent with lavender. Everyone from the girls to the eunuchs to the Mistress herself had bathed in it. Philippa sat with Lalehan in the shade and watched the vizier stroll through the neighboring courtyard, taking deep, satisfied breaths and gazing about him with the innocent satisfaction of a young child who has just turned his mother's finest tablecloth into a canvas for painting.

"Should we warn him of the plot against his life?" Lalehan asked.

Philippa started. "Who - ?" She had become practised at controlling her expressions, but the alarm in her voice sounded dangerously evident to her ears. It was a good thing there was no one else within earshot.

Lalehan gave her a wry look. "My friend," she said, "who _doesn't_ want to murder him by now?"

***

It was Kuzúm who saved them in the end. The vizier had come up with what Philippa could only describe - in terms she did not reproduce in her letters to Kate - as his most asinine idea yet. Fruits as hats. Or rather hair ornaments. Or whatever else: the point was, fruit worn on the head, to represent the ripeness and delicacy of the women dedicated to the Sultan, of course. Each combination chosen to express an individual's particular character, of course. Philippa wondered if the strings of green and purple grapes threaded into her hair were intended to express _sourness_ or _fermentation_.

Kuzúm, on the other hand, had received his crown of apricots with nothing short of glee. Though initially charmed by his enthusiasm, the other members of the Harem did not share that glee for long, as it turned out the apricots in question were over-ripe and Kuzúm was soon covering everything within reach of his active fingers with streaks of juice. Including, as it turned out, the vizier's robe when he arrived for his daily inspection of the results of his decrees.

"Your small sticky one is already a hero," Lalehan said, watching the vizier depart - rubbing fruitlessly at the apricot stains on his robe - with ill-disguised pleasure. "What manner of deeds will he perform when he is a man?"

"Defeating an evil vizier with unfortunate ideas about fashion will be hard to top," Philippa said.

"Fippy!" Kuzúm, deprived of the former target of his juice-covered hugs, launched himself into her arms instead. "Give me your grapes!"

"He will have to learn to tell his friends from his enemies first," Lalehan said, making no effort to help as the last apricot from Kuzúm's crown plopped down the front of Philippa's dress and sticky fingers burrowed into her hair.

She found bits of apricot fuzz and grape stems on her person for two days afterwards; but that, at least, was the last of the vizier's experiments. She would take her victories where she could get them.


End file.
